


I'm Sorry About That

by FirePigeon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Child Abuse, How Do I Tag, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:42:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirePigeon/pseuds/FirePigeon
Summary: 7:42The minute Takashi Shirogane died in the Truama room of Altea Memorial Hospital.The minute Keith Kogane made his big entrance into the world on the other side of the Hospital.Shiro took an immediate interest in the newborn baby. He decided to stick around and watch out for the little guy. Soon he found that Keith wasn't born into the best conditions and, as a ghost, there was nothing he could do about it.





	I'm Sorry About That

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before Season six came out although I'm publishing it on the release date. Also, it's 4AM so forgive any typos I missed in the* proof reread. Non Galra AU

I watched you grow up. I watched over you your entire life and I probably would have watched over your children had I been given the opportunity. But you didn't make it that far, you barely made it into adulthood before giving up.

The moment I saw you, I just knew you were destined to do great things. I knew you were special. It's why I stuck around. I was intrigued by you. When the doctor held you up and exclaimed "It's a boy!".

You were strange child. You are by far the most interesting child I'd ever laid eyes on. I'm not complaining, it made you unique.

Even from a young age, you had a very short temper and zero patience. You cried a lot as a baby. When you are hungry you wouldn't stop crying until you were fed, when you needed a diaper change you wouldn't stop screaming until one of your parents remember to do so. They hardly remember to bathe you and care for you. You cried a lot because they often forgot. Usually they only took care of you just to get you to shut up rather than take care of you because they actually cared.

Your parents are strange too. Very different from mine. 

They shouted all the time  
When you weren't screaming, they were shouting. The house was never quiet. Your parents use physical violence to get their way with each other and others. It didn't take me very long to realize that the house you lived in and family that was raising you wasn't fit. What could I do, though? I was a ghost, no one even knew I was there. I'm sorry about that.

I was so proud the first time I saw you walk. Prouder than I'd ever been in life and in death.  
You were clutching on to the coffee table in the life room and wanted to get to the couch. You didn't make it to the couch, you only took one step before falling. You were a slow learner at first but that didn't stop your determination. By the end of the week you were wandering around the house on two feet.

Your parents never saw but that's okay because I did. I was there and I was proud.

One day you were outside playing in the mud with your dad's tools after a day of rain. I was right behind you as you lugged the toolbox half your size into the yard. Despite being dead, I was following you in hopes of catching you If you drop something or fell, I'm glad neither of those happened.

The grin that spread across your face and the way your unnaturally violet eyes lit up, I wouldn't have changed it for the world. It was a most beautiful sight I'd ever seen.

"Fuck." It was a strange first word but I wasn't completely shocked. That was all you ever heard around the house. Your mother and father hardly ever had the decency to feed and change you much less talk to you or teach you words.

You were very vocal kid before school. But I noticed a few weeks into kindergarten that you stopped talking.

I loved your voice and I loved hearing it. It made my day but if you didn't want to talk, then you didn't have to. Whatever made you comfortable.

It didn't take me long to find out why you are suddenly quiet. The first time I saw your father strike you was the day I knew everything was going to go down hill. I will never forget the way your eyes widen and shock, how it didn't take long for that shocked turn to fear. I wanted to murder him. I wanted to tell somebody so that he could be taken care of one way or another and you'd be safe.

But I was dead, no one knew I was there. No one knew he was hurting you. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry about that.

It was heart-wrenching watching you cower in fear away from your father. It had to be done though, if you hid, he couldn't hit you.

At first your father didn't hit you in front of your mother. He only hit you when she was away, which could be for weeks, months and some years at a time. Military. 

I thought that once she caught him that she would stop him but she didn't. She didn't even seem to care. She turned a blind eye. You didn't know that she knew even as you got older. But I knew.

Your father was often so drunk or high on drugs that I was genuinely surprised he could recall your name. You suffered.

When you started first grade I was excited and very happy because you be spending 7 or 8 hours away from home a day instead of the half days you got in kindergarten.

I thought the trained professionals would notice suspicious behavior. But nothing worked out as I hoped.

You were a good actor. Although you came across as grumpy, you never let on that you were in pain. You were still a quiet kid, still didn't speak much since you started kindergarten.

You stayed silent. You avoided all social interactions. I had a few ideas why but I knew deep down, realistically, you are afraid that everyone would be like your father. Other than your parents and temper-tantrum-throwing toddlers, what else did you have to go off of?

You got older, the grades passed. You always sat in the back of the class. You had boughten a pocket knife, it was dull and from a kid in school but it was better than nothing. You'd sit in the back of the classroom and you would run your hand over it while it was folded up in your pocket. As if just only remind yourself it was still there.

I wanted you to get out there, I wanted you to have a big group of friends but if you wanted to be by yourself then I was content with your happiness.

I stayed with you as more years passed by, you left Elementary School went to high school. I watched as they all tormented you relentlessly, The Bullying never stopped. From everything from your hair to your music taste. You dropped out halfway through tenth grade.

Seeing the way people treated you, how they judged you, made me lose my faith in all Humanity. 

In life, I never knew people could be so cruel. I grew up with a big family, lots of friends and they were the kindest, most loving people. I wish you could've had what I had.

You were eighteen years old when you gave up.

You were barely an adult. You came home from pretending to be at school and listened to your father as he ranted and raved and cried over his wife's death on the front line.

That tiny, infinitesimally small sliver of hope that you still carried died. You still didn't know if she knew. You thought that, maybe, just one day, she might stop him. But now she couldn't.

You didn't hold any empathy for him. He didn't deserve any care, you were old enough to realize that then.

Then the day came. 

You dropped your bag in the front hallway and your red crop-top-like coat on top of it. As you made your way to the bathroom you looked around and took in everything for the last time.

I knew what was happening. Honestly, I didn't know if I want you to stop you.

I knew in life that you could have done great things. You could have made the world a better place. You were talented, smart, a little twisted but funny. You were a good person. But you were ruined. Your passion, potential and spirit was destroyed by the cruel and corrupted ways of society.

You could have gone on. You could have lived to be the greatest man alive. I don't think you would have ever been truly and genuinely happy. Not with your past always there.

You lock the bathroom door behind you. You stared at the mirror and played with your hair a little bit. I thought you were beautiful. But I knew your opinion on your appearance was very much the opposite of mine.

It was like a knife twisting in my gut, if I could feel pain, when I noticed there was no hesitation as you grabbed a bottle of pills and use your thumb to pop open the cap. 

In a last-ditch attempt, I reached out but my cold hands went straight through yours and the bottle. I'm sorry about that.

You brought the bottle to your lips and swallowed as many as you could one go. The tears streamed down your face, rolling down your cheeks and dripping off of your chin. Your hair stuck to your face. Your eyes look shiny and glazed over.

You struggled for a moment, but eventually you did manage to down the whole bottle on one go.

I couldn't watch, I walked through the door and stood with my back to the door. I listened.

3 Hours, 27 minutes, 14 seconds. That's how much time passed, I felt that you were beside me again. I did not feel your body heat.

I turned and came face-to-face with you, as beautiful as ever, silently I took my hand and place it in yours. 

"I'm sorry about never being able to stop them or help you." I whispered as I took in you your semi-transparent appearance.


End file.
